


Totentanz (La Danse Macabre)

by Balrog_Roike



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Blood and Gore, Character Death, Dark, Gen, Ghosts, Horror, Not Really A Happy Ending, Possession, but nobody will miss him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-13 22:30:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16480961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Balrog_Roike/pseuds/Balrog_Roike
Summary: "Vengeance is nothing but justice long overdue..."The Lazarus Pit thinks so, too.





	Totentanz (La Danse Macabre)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm late!!!  
> I had over a month time - and decided to start writing this three days before Halloween.  
> (Fortunately the plot outline has existed for far longer and was written almost completely in actual sentences and scenes. So I just had to tweak things a bit here and there and got done before Halloween was completely over. Kids, please don't try this at home. Be smarter than I am and don't procrastinate without a good reason.)
> 
> Unbetaed and unedited.

It begins with Talia at his door, a six years old boy at her side and a smile on her lips.

She’s beautiful, as always, all forbidden promise of paradise and purgatory wrapped up in steel and silk and words so sweet you don’t even notice the wounds they’ve left until long after they’ve festered and poisoned a heart still beating. She’s dangerous not only because she’s deadly, but because she ruins things – ruins _him_ – in ways that still leave them capable of functioning. She’s a vision, a _mirage_ , of could-have-been and if-only and maybe-if and whenever he catches sight of her, his breath stutters and his hearts beats louder and his conviction falters just the tiniest bit.

As always, the sudden encounter leaves Bruce reeling.

The boy at her side only makes it worse.

Because he looks just like him, if a few shades darker. The wide, too serious eyes are green instead of blue, yes, but the shape of them, of the little nose, the chin, that’s all him and Bruce knows instantly that, once upon a time, the love of his life had lied to him. She left him to mourn, alone, and took their child away, when Bruce didn’t even know to look for him.

He should probably rage, shout, do _something_ , but instead he grips the doorway hard and lets it keep him upright, while his personal Sheherazade weaves webs of words about a once stolen future and his eyes stay fixed firmly on his son.

Maybe, in another life, the story could have ended here – or at least it could have taken another direction entirely. Father and son, united at last. Together to learn and live and fight side by side. Just another addition to an already large family, but…

But when Talia greeted him with a wide smile on her generous mouth, her lovely eyes had been full of barely leashed terror.

So he stares and listens and his mind works away. There’s a reason she’s here, another reason than just to unite father and son, especially because his son – so proud, so misguided, so broken – seems to be just as confused about the sudden meeting as he himself is, no matter how hard he tries to hide it.

Something happened, something big, but before Bruce can even decide if he wants to rage at Talia for deceiving him after all or offer his assistance like the lovesick fool he is, she’s gone again.

The boy stays.

Both of them will never see Talia again.

~~~

The boy – Damian – settles after a while.

He’s wild and violent and blood-thirsty but… oddly sweet underneath it all. Not tainted completely, not yet. Willing to listen and to learn and to respect those who earn it and so, so excited to finally meet his dad. Or rather, his father, as he insists on calling him.

Dick adores him right away, while Tim and Damian spend the first few weeks stalking each other like a pair of mistrustful alley cats. Tim fears for his place in his new-found family, threatened by the “true” son, while Damian only sees the mantle that he desperately wants, even if in the end he learns the hard way that he’s not good enough to take it yet. The fight, when it finally happens, is ugly and bloody and should shatter any fragile hints of a brotherly relationship between them completely – and yet, it binds them together instead.

They strike a deal with all the seriousness only children possess: Damian will share whatever lessons he learnt from his mother and his grandfather’s assassins, while Tim agrees to teach him the other sides of being Robin in exchange. The softer sides, the science, the secrets of Gotham, so that when Damian is finally old enough and Tim ready to pass the mantle on and take the next, independent step, they will both be more than ready and capable to give their best.

Dick coos in delight – until both boys decide that they’ve put up with enough surprise-hugs and overly affectionate fussing and band together to make his life hell instead.

It’s been a long time since the manor felt so filled with life, and yet…

There’s a glass case in Bruce’s cave that he can never quite forget, a voice and laughter he dearly misses, and most importantly Talia is still gone, has apparently completely vanished, and he has a very bad feeling about whatever she was so afraid of.

~~~

Months later, Bruce’s finally in luck.

Word reaches him about a League hideout high up in the mountains between Asia and Europe. It’s a beautiful place, an old castle set on a cliff, overlooking a fast-streaming river cutting through breath-taking canyons. Majestic and ancient and easily defendable – exactly the kind of hideout Ra’s al Ghul prefers when he’s not actively enacting a plan and thinking about his next step.

But the vast building is empty, with nothing but wind whispering in the cold, dusty halls. And beneath the splendor, the pride, the stone, lies nothing but what once was a Lazarus Pit.

And bodies – Ra’s body – or what’s left of them.

Bruce’s glad he left his children home for this.

~~~

No matter what he does, he has no idea what happened.

It’s a massacre, body parts everywhere, bones and blood and flesh scattered all over the floor, the walls, the ceiling. There should be traces of more of than just the victims, some clue who caused this or at least how or _what_ , but there aren’t even bloody prints or marks leading out of the room, as if the murderer or _thing_ that did this never even left.

It’s been too long ago, Bruce tells himself. The evidence got lost to decay and rot. If he’d been here sooner he would know what happened, what caused this, and yet…

In the end he can only arrange for discrete funerals and return to Gotham, to his sons, with a bad taste in his mouths, the memory of the stench in his nose and a heavy, mourning heart.

He doesn’t know how to tell Damian, not yet, but something tells him that Talia suffered the same fate as her father did.

~~~

Months pass and people all over the world begin to whisper.

Something new is going on, something dark and frightening and horrible.

Bodies are found, people are dying and nobody knows who’s responsible for it.

At first, Bruce doesn’t pay attention. He has Gotham to look after, after all, a family, a little kid constantly caught between raging and crying, and the rumors are starting far away overseas, where they don’t really concern him.

But with time, the picture starts to become clearer and dread begins to settle in.

Bodies are found – in pieces, everywhere. People are dying – their lifeless faces frozen in masks of absolute terror. Nobody knows who’s responsible for it – there’s no trace, no clue, no hint as to what happened to them.

‘It happens to criminals’, some of the rumors say.

‘All of them?’ questions another.

Uncertainty rules for a while, as more and more bodies pile up and whatever it is cuts a swath through Eastern Europe, steadily making its way through city after city on its way west.

‘Yes’, another rumor sneers, with teeth bared in a bitter smile and hate-filled eyes swimming with unshed tears and a broken pride. ‘Not convicted, no, too rich, too suave, or simply nobody cared at all, but yes, criminals, all of them, even if they never had to pay for it before.’

‘Yes, yes, yes’ is the answer every time, for every new body, if you dig long enough and deep enough and aren’t fooled by gilded facades or content to let shadows hide the ugly truth from sight.

And while the normal citizens worry and hide and confess their sins, hoping that it will somehow save them, the Justice League swarms out, desperate to learn more. They search the cities, they scour the web, looking for _any_ evidence that doesn’t actually have anything to do with the victims themselves – but they only find more rumors instead, whispers and word of mouth where science and technique fails.

Nobody ever actually saw what happened to the unfortunate targets, yes, but right before and after people in the area noticed the same details too often for it to be coincidence: Damp in the air, sharp and biting, and dust left on a ground that was clean before. The stench of blood on the wind, even before people died, and eerie lights where shadows should have been.

And a man – or a boy – a tall, thin figure in a deep red hoodie, always entering the scene right before the screaming starts, and only leaving when there’s nothing left alive anymore…

Superman searches, the Flash searches, _everybody_ searches, but they just can’t seem to find him. Vanished or hidden, a bloody red phantom.

But it doesn’t matter in the end, because he comes to them.

~~~

It’s quiet for a few weeks, once the stranger reaches the western coast of Europe. Nobody relaxes, though, because everybody knows this only means that he’s on his way across the sea.

Because why waste more time in comparatively peaceful Europe if over in America the true cesspits of humanity are waiting for him.

Star City, Metropolis, Blüdhaven.

Gotham.

The American heroes are getting ready, because they know that the stranger is coming for them. For their cities, their criminals, regardless if known or hidden. And no matter what they did, no matter if they maybe would deserve it, the heroes can’t let the killing continue, they all know this.

Meanwhile, some of the smarter villains flee west instead, hoping against hope that they will find some measure of safety there for whatever time they have left.

But they all are waiting with baited breath on whose city will be the first one to be hit.

~~~

In the end, it’s Gotham, naturally it’s Gotham, because how could it be any different.

Oracle catches view of the red clad person leaving a ship – the first official record they actually have of this new threat – and the Batman, for once, calls in reinforcements. He’s seen what this person can do, how he can enter a room, an _area_ full of hardened criminals and being the only thing left alive in a matter of minutes, even if he still has no idea how the man is doing it.

Magic or metahuman, Bruce needs all the help that he can get.

He’s not going to risk his family against this, especially not now, when he already has a little boy mourning his mother at home. He knows how hard life as an orphan is.

It should be impossible, but somehow they lose their target in the chaos of the city. Among the bustle and lights of Diamond District, among the lowlifes and paupers of Crime Alley. The only sign he’s still there at all are the bodies left behind – sometimes whole, sometimes in pieces – always with expressions of terror on their faces – or whatever’s left.

Not that it still matters to the dead.

He seems to search for something, Batman can deduce. He’s hitting the worst hot spots of crime with the familiarity of a local who knows exactly where to look. As always it’s scary just what this city can produce – but it also gives them the hint they needed to find the stranger’s target first.

~~~

Together they… try to bring the Joker in? Take him into protective custody? Nobody is quite sure. But before they can really decide on anything, the dreaded shape appears in the mouth of the alley, tall and thin in a simple red hoodie, wearing a face they all thought they would never see again.

The face may be familiar, but the eyes are glowing green. Bright, poisonous green even in the shadows and the smile on the boy’s lips is wide and far too mean. Hungry and wild in a way that doesn’t fit and the shape of “Jason?” dies stillborn on Batman’s lips.

The Joker laughs and laughs and threatens an encore, but Jason? only smiles wider, empty and yet full of anticipation.

“You? How?”

There are so many questions, and for a while the boy? ghost? apparition? humors them, if only to see them suffer the horror of it.

“You killed them.”

The accusation only results in a shrug, while bright, bright eyes stay firmly riveted on the Joker.

“We don’t kill! We don’t have the right! We aren’t judge, jury and executioner!”

Green eyes only glow brighter.

“No, you’re not,” is the calm answer. “But we are.”

And then the boy? calls forth the dead.

They only notice the changing of the light at first. The expected tang of sweet, metallic blood and sharp, acid dampness had been in the air right from the beginning, but now the deep, dark shadows of the alley begin to light up as every rain drop and dirty puddle in the vicinity begins to sizzle and glow in a poisonous burning green, turning into Lazarus Pits in front of their very eyes.

While the heroes step back in either wariness or outright fear, unwilling to risk the madness and bloodlust even the slightest touch of the liquid may bring, dust rises from the ground and shapes itself into people – dead people – and Bruce is sickened to realize that he recognizes a lot of them.

But maybe even worse are all those faces he’s never seen before and how with every second that passes there are more and more and more...

They stare at the Joker with dark, empty eyes and whisper words with lips that refuse to make a sound.

_‘You killed me.’ ’You killed us.’ Oh god, I couldn’t even bury her.’ ‘Wrong place, wrong time?’ ‘What a joke…’ ‘Wanna know a joke?’ ‘My baby, my baby, so many parts and I couldn’t find them all…’ ‘How could I live without him. ’’Boss, why did you…?’ ‘Give her back!’ ‘How dare you!’ ‘I only wanted to go home.’ ‘Mummy, why did he hurt me?’ ’My children were waiting for me. What will they do without me now?’ ‘Why so serious?’ ‘I’ll show you a real smile.’ ‘Smile for me?’ ‘Smile for me!’ ‘HOW DARE YOU KILL ME!’_

The whispering voices swell to a crescendo, filling the air with accusations, laments, the sufferings of a thousand dead people. They whisper, they rage, then they scream and rush their murderer, ripping the Joker into shreds while the Earth’s most respected heroes can only stand by and stare, unable to do anything to stop them.

Jason? doesn’t even lift a finger.

Once the dead is done only a few remain. Most of the specters turn to dust again, sinking to the ground to cover flesh and blood and gore. The rest lingers, staring at nothing, while their whispers turn sweet and longing now.

_‘She has to be five now…’ ‘My children…’ ‘Can I?’ ‘May I?’ ‘We wanted to marry in autumn…’ ‘Her grave, I want to visit her grave.’ ‘Say goodbye…’ ‘We’re we found? Or are we still rotting there?’ ‘Daddy’s crying. Daddy needs to stop crying now.’ ’He’s finally gone, I need to tell them!’ ‘Please.’ ‘Please?’ ‘May I?’_

A dip of the hood and they disperse, scattering like nothing more than fog in the wind. Searching out their regrets, their loved ones, for one last time. To try to right what wrongs they are capable of in one last night.

“How could you?”

It takes a while for any of the heroes to be able to speak again. Too shaken, too sickened by all the violence and gore, the ghostly slaughter of a madman.

“This can’t continue. We will stop you!”

“But why?”

Green eyes still glowing in the shadows of the hood, and this time the smile may be smaller but just as terrifying as before. The boy? cocks his head slightly to the side, almost innocently interested, curious even, but the gaze stays bright and predatorily intense.

“The law…”

A laugh, maybe, or a huff of breath that maybe isn’t even needed.

“What do the laws of the living mean to us? To me? The democracy of the dead is free to make their own decisions. I’m only serving justice in their name.”

“This isn’t justice. This is vengeance!”

A scoff at a father’s desperation, a wild, teeth-baring grin at the rest of them.

“Vengeance is nothing but justice long overdue…”

The red hood straightens and those horrible eyes seem to stare right through the heroes and see everything they may ever have wanted to hide.

“This is my one and only ultimatum: Either put those who deserve it into prison and make sure they stay there – or I will take matters into my own hands from now on.”

It’s bravery that makes a hero. Bravery or stupidity.

“We will stop you!”

“Will you?”

The head tilts again and the wide smile gets almost hungry. Unblinking green eyes bear into every single one of them.

“Are you innocent enough to face your own dead then?”

Green liquid sizzles and dust rises again. Only the hints of shapes this time – for now – but with whispering voices all the same.

_‘You killed me!’ ‘If only you’d been faster!’ ‘I was right there!’ ‘After losing her I just couldn’t go on anymore…’ ‘My baby!’ ‘If you had caught him…’ ‘If only you had stopped them!’ ‘Why weren’t you there in time?’ ‘Mom? Why didn’t they save us?’ ‘You broke my fucking arm. Nobody would hire me! What else was I supposed to do?’ ‘What do you need heroes for?’ ‘Why didn’t you find me?’ ‘You destroyed my business. My home! I had nothing left anymore!’ ‘Couldn’t you have fought somewhere else?’ ‘Should have put that freak down when you had the chance!’ ‘Guess now I’m counted as fucking collateral…’ ‘And to think I admired you.’ ‘I waited for you! I waited so long! If I had known you wouldn’t come, I’d given in before…’ ‘How noble of you.’ ’He wanted to hurt you so he hurt me!’ ‘I didn’t get involved in this shit!’ ‘How’s that fair?’ ‘I didn’t even do anything!’ ‘Why me?’ ‘Why me?’ ‘WHY ME?’_

The heroes fall back, horrified – and he who once was Jason smiles, empty and wide, and turns to leave again.

“We understand each other then.”

A pause, because there’s something, half-remembered, that he should give them a moniker to call him by.

“Call me Lazarus from now on.”

And then he’s gone.

This son will never come home again.

~~~

_The Lazarus Pit is older than time, first formed when the first being died and felt the briefest spark of resentment at its unavoidable fate. Since then it collects all the rage and helplessness and despair. All the frustration and regret and bitterness at the unfairness of it all._

_And the more intelligent the living get, the deeper gets the Pit as well. Because you need to understand death to resent it, and you need to be able to recognize that you shouldn’t have had to die to truly hate your fate. Because the smarter the living get, the more cruel they get as well, more murderous, more uncaring who they hurt as long as it means they themselves live well._

_And the humans are the smartest creatures on Earth right now._

_The Lazarus Pit has encountered my types of humans since it has first taken root here. Most were filled with hate and horror at their fates, refusing to die, ready to sacrifice the living if it meant only a second more. Feeling entitled to be healed, to live on, to taste immortality and never die – to make use of sheer limitless potential of untold lives cut short well before their time trapped inside the green pools and still hunger for more - and yet selfish and cruel at the core, hiding behind a thin veneer of selflessness and noble goals, if at all._

_The Pit gives them what they want and gives them even more. Pours all the hate and bitterness of all those screaming souls inside them, just to see them burn themselves down and everything around them trying to get free again. Watches how they destroy all things they value, the persons they love and live for, in their mad scramble for always more, more, more._

_Until in the end there’s nothing left and they join the eternally raging voices in its core._

_And then, a new human, a boy. So young, so empty. Alive without living and ready to be filled completely. A blank slate meant to be brought back again, and yet, deep in his soul…_

_“I don’t care if I die. Just not like this! Not when I still need to protect her. To save her. To make this right.”_

_Billions of souls quiet themselves to pay attention._

_“I only wanted to help. This isn’t fair.”_

_Billions of souls join their voices in a whisper._

_‘This isn’t fair.’_

_“I need to make this right somehow.”_

_‘This isn’t fair.’_

_“How could this even be allowed to happen?”_

_‘This isn’t fair!’_

_The boy gasps to life as violently as every other human bathing in a Lazarus Pit before. But when he opens his eyes they glow a bright, poisonous green and the liquid around his feet steams and vanishes into nothing now that the Pit has finally found a worthy vessel._

_He looks at the men who waited for his resurrection and he can hear the screams of all the dead they have to answer for deep inside of him._

_“This. Isn’t. Fair!”_

_‘No. It isn’t. But we’ll make it fair!’_

**Author's Note:**

> Because apparently my imagination has decided that there aren't enough Necromancers in the DCU.  
> On that note, I imagine the Blackest Night is going to be quite interesting in this universe.


End file.
